Thursday, March 01, 2007

Very few redeeming qualities to this poster. But I think everyone should be able to toot their own horn at least once. And who's to say it's still not possible?

One of my favorites. Someday I'll get around to offering this slogan on coffee mugs on Cafe Press. The image is from Thread, a performance I did at Shedhalle in Z├╝rich with Yvonne Austen.

Shrewd Little Angels, Collision, 8/24/95

Shortly after my friend Nina Iskrenko died I began having dreams that she was lost & desperate in a kind of fog or ether. One morning after the third or fourth of these dreams I started making paintings of angels to guide her. I made nearly sixty angel paintings in a couple of weeks & the dreams stopped. I figured Nina didn't need them anymore so I should try to give them to people who did.

I convinced the nice young people at Collision Gallery to show these paintings. The interior of Collision reminded me of a forest cabin in Wisconsin, so instead of an opening reception I had a slumber party. About 15 people "slept" over with me till the next morning.

Anne Frank In Jerusalem, 111 Minna, 8/7/95

At Galerie Theuretzbacher in Vienna, Mark Hudson, one of my collaborators in the Feed-Back-And-Forth project, slid his tongue down the length of one of the corners of the room. Actually, a couple of other artists had held him up in the air & rubbed him like a pencil on the wall. About halfway down, his tongue became so abraded that it started leaving a trail of blood on the wall. It was great & I wanted to do that too somehow. So here at this reading I had my chance. I would read a section from my novel Anne Frank In Jerusalem & then turn & lick the wall behind me for awhile. I'd rubbed my tongue with sandpaper beforehand so that I'd be sure to start bleeding in good time. I did manage to leave a bloody smudge on the wall but it was very much inferior to Mark's action.

The images used on the poster are from a performance I did with Yvonne Austen at Galerie Theuretzbacher the same day Mark's tongue bled.


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